


Touched by the years

by nerd_herd808



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerd_herd808/pseuds/nerd_herd808
Summary: Truly, one of Danny’s great joys in life was seeing the ways that age has touched his partner of 10 years. Not that he takes pleasure in the loss of youthfulness, or in the pain that’s etched fine lines beside his eyes, butgoddamn it, those lines mean he’s still here.
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 13
Kudos: 165





	Touched by the years

**Author's Note:**

> I know I just posted a story, but I had written it a long time ago and this was cathartic after the episode last night. I kind of love grouchy, aging Steve, but I need him to work through his grief and issues at home. Or with Danny, at least.

Sitting back in the armchair with a sigh, Danny felt a smile quirk his lips as he clicked through the photos on his computer. He kicked the footrest up and crossed his ankles, socked feet wiggling against the worn leather. 

They had all been so young, back then. Back when he couldn’t decide if he wanted to slug Steve or hug him, the hotshot. To be honest, that was still sometimes true—but most of the time, now, Steve managed to temper the crazy enough to satisfy Danny. Well, at least to bring it down to Danny’s own level of crazy. Ever since that day when Steve had taken a huge, gasping breath like he was about to jump off a cliff, and pressed his lips to Danny's. 

Truly, one of Danny’s great joys in life was seeing the ways that age has touched his partner of 10 years. Not that he takes pleasure in the loss of youthfulness, or in the pain that’s etched fine lines beside his eyes, but _goddamn it_ , those lines mean he’s still here. 

Danny clicked to the next picture, and huffed out a surprised breath. He had almost forgotten that Steve’s features had ever been so angular. His cheekbones look like they could cut glass. Danny knew, in his head, that Steve had been fresh out of the service, and probably burned through every calorie that he managed to eat. _Not to mention he was grieving,_ Danny thought grimly. To this day, Steve had to be coaxed or bullied into coming to eat when he was processing big emotions. He’d spend all evening sitting in his Dad’s chair if Danny let him, just watching the ocean roll in and out. Sometimes, Danny let him. Sometimes, he joined him for a while, then poked and prodded and needled until Steve was annoyed or laughing at him enough to get out of his own head. Or, if it was a really bad day, he’d sit and quietly watch Steve until he spilled. Steve seemed to know that if Danny _wasn’t_ talking, he really meant business. 

Ten years later, Steve didn’t have all of those sharp edges anymore. His shoulders and chest had broadened, as if directly proportional to the responsibilities and the years Steve carried. His hair was streaked with silver. If Danny caught Steve’s expression out of the corner of his eye, more often than not he wore a quietly pensive expression rather than the simmering, ready-to-blow intensity of his thirties. And Danny had seen those stupid eyes go misty more than once when the kids were around and Steve thought nobody was looking at him.

Not to say that Steve was losing his strength or ability: on the contrary, he was more in tune with his body than ever. He still ran for miles or swam every morning, slipping back into the house while Danny sipped his coffee, dripping with sweat or ocean water and a sense of catharsis. 

Steve wouldn’t admit it to anyone but Danny, but sometimes when they got home after a hard day when Steve’s body had been abused by running and fists and elbows and leaping off roofs, his muscles would tighten up like steel cables. Danny had watched him stand up stiffly from dinner, jaw clenched, a few days in a row before rolling his eyes, pushing Steve back into his chair, and digging his thumbs into the knotted muscles. Steve had protested the exercise until Danny found a particularly tight spot next to his right shoulder blade and he had broken off with a groan, chin dropping to his chest. 

Now, all he had to do was meet Danny’s eyes after supper with that helpless, annoyed look on his face and Danny would wipe his lips with his napkin and take up his place behind Steve’s chair, chiding and encouraging in turns as he massaged. And it’s not like Steve was the only one reaping the benefits of this partnership: Danny had lost count of the number of times he’d tried not to limp down the stairs after a shower, trick knee acting up, to find Steve sitting on the couch, ostensibly reading a book (through those ridiculous reading glasses the doctor had said he now needs) and not looking at the bottle of painkillers and ice pack carefully laid out on the coffee table. Danny would swallow a few aspirin, collapse on the other end of the couch, and haul his leg up and over Steve’s knees. His partner would deftly wrap the ice pack just to the sorest part of Danny’s knee, then set a timer on his watch and settle in to read his book, warm hand resting on Danny’s ankle. 

And Steve definitely hadn’t lost his argumentative nature or fiery temper. Danny was fully aware that occasionally, when Steve was feeling restless or vulnerable, he would intentionally say something to stoke Danny’s temper into flames, just to watch the shitstorm that would follow. Danny was generally happy to oblige. Steve would settle in, eyes half-mast, and watch Danny pace and gesture and argue until his steam ran out. And to Danny’s delight, when he was done, Steve would often sling a fond arm around his shoulder for a squeeze, leaving Danny watching him go with a dopey smile and irritation draining out or his body as if the plug had been pulled.

And sometimes, Steve would come in the door, keyed up, anger practically blazing through his eyes. He'd pace laps around the living room, snapping at Danny if he tried to intervene, until he finally just stripped his work clothes, tied on his running shoes, and was out the door. Danny would leave a glass of water on the counter for him and go about his business, knowing that as much as Steve relied on Danny, he needed to blow off steam alone.

Danny clicked through the photos, laughing quietly to himself at the picture of tiny Gracie, swept up and laughing between Steve and Kono. God, he misses them.

He heard a quiet noise, and glanced to his left to see Steve stirring where he had been sacked out on the couch. Danny had stayed late at the office finishing some paperwork, and had let himself into the house to see his partner stretched out at full length on his side, wearing his favorite Navy sweatshirt and gym shorts, one long arm thrown over Eddie, who was curled up next to him. Danny’s heart had done a slow roll in his chest, taking in the salt-and-pepper stubble and bare feet. He had made quiet, soothing noises at Eddie when he raised his head, waiting for him to settle back down before Danny quietly hung his keys and toed off his shoes. He had been sitting here messing with his computer since, loathe to wake Steve, who was just starting to catch up on his sleep.

He looked back at Steve to find his partner watching him quietly through sleepy eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Danny replied. 

Steve stroked Eddie, who licked him affectionately then hauled himself off the couch and padded into the kitchen for a drink. Steve stretched, sleeves of his sweatshirt not quite covering his long arms as one elbow bent over his head, hand resting on the armrest. “What’s that face for?”

Danny wasn’t sure what his face was doing. “What face? There’s no face.” 

Steve’s lips curled slightly. “There’s a face.”

Danny spun the laptop around to show Steve the photo he’d been looking at—one of Grace, Charlie, and the whole Five-0 team after a Thanksgiving football game. Steve had Charlie on his shoulders and an arm hooked around Danny’s neck, who was laughing up at him, both hands on Gracie’s shoulders. 

Steve’s eyes softened. “Ah.” He paused for a moment, just watching Danny. Danny shifted a little in his seat. “What?”

Steve smiled fondly at him, then lifted his arm and beckoned to Danny. “C’mere.”

“Nah, you take up that whole couch yourself, you Neanderthal.” Danny was already closing the laptop and setting it on the coffee table. 

Steve rolled his eyes and reached out. “Get your ass over here, Williams.”

Danny went.

He rested a hip on the couch and Steve hauled him in, arranging Danny until he was tucked against Steve’s sleep-warm chest, nose buried in his collarbone. Steve settled an arm over Danny’s hip, crooked his elbow until he could scratch his fingers through the shaved hairs on the side of Danny’s head. Danny inhaled the scent of their laundry detergent and the cup of Earl Gray he must have had when he got home and tucked his left hand under Steve’s sweatshirt, sliding it up his spine. 

Steve let out a slow breath, settling back in. 

“You and your octopus arms,” Danny grumbled halfheartedly, voice muffled in Steve’s chest. Steve patted him absently.

“Let’s call Gracie in the morning.”

“Okay.” Danny paused. “We’re getting old, McGarrett.”

Steve cracked an eye at him. “I’m okay with that.”

Danny smiled, knowing that Steve couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. “Me too.”


End file.
